A Not-So-Average Day in a Not-So-Average Life
by Cracked silver
Summary: What would it be like to live a day in the household of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes? What do they do? How do they interact? Let us find out. A bit more goes on than the description goes on, but I don't know how to describe it. I do not own Sherlock, but it would be pretty neat if I did!
1. An Average Day

**I don't have too much to say about this fic. I wrote it for my friend, and this is my ****_first _****attempt at writing Johnlock. Hopefully it went well...Anyway, enjoy!**

Sherlock Holmes, the world's greatest (and only) consulting detective, was curled up on the sofa, trying to find entertainment in some idiotic soap opera. He hadn't had a case for a few weeks, and it was driving him mad. It seemed that the world wanted to be crime-free for whatever frustrating reason, meaning Sherlock had absolutely nothing to do to keep himself occupied. That is, nothing but his boyfriend, John Watson. But John was being frightfully boring at the moment. He was relaxing in his chair, reading the newspaper. Sherlock scoffed, causing John to look up from whatever painfully dull article he'd been reading.

''Something the matter, Sherlock?'' He asked, arching an eyebrow. Sherlock smiled. He would've thought that John would be able to decipher the noises he made. After all, they'd been dating for nearly two years now, so why John still couldn't comprehend his body language was beyond Sherlock.

''How you can sit there and read silly articles about subjects that have obvious endings is beyond me.'' Sherlock replied, shaking his head.

John lowered the newspaper and gazed at Sherlock thoughtfully. He understood that most mundane things bored Sherlock, because he was simply too intelligent to be amused or interested by such things. That did not change the fact that John enjoyed reading the newspaper.

''Well, not all of us can be the world's one and only consulting detective, Sherlock.'' He said, returning his attention to the newspaper. Sherlock pouted. He had had John's attention for a brief moment, and he did not like losing it. He cleared his throat, staring at John intently. John grunted in response but did not look away from the newspaper. Sherlock cleared his throat again, louder this time, determined to get John's attention. John looked up slowly, raising both eyebrows this time.

''Yes? What is it, love?'' John asked, smiling slightly. Even though Sherlock could be an ass, he was still lovable and absolutely adorable. John sometimes wondered how he'd managed to get with Sherlock before anyone else. Neither of them had come out as gay yet, but Sherlock was extremely attractive, and John had never heard of an occasion where somewhere, other than himself, had tried to hook up with Sherlock. He was happy about this, though. It meant no one would steal Sherlock from him.

''Did you collect the mail?'' Sherlock asked, surprising John. Sherlock normally didn't bother asking about such trivial things, and expected John to take care of them. Sherlock asking about the mail aroused John's suspicion.

''Um…yes. Why do you ask?'' John responded, regarding Sherlock curiously. After asking such odd questions, Sherlock usually couldn't come up with a reason to justify having asked the question in the first place. This usually resulted in John spending several hours doing things to cheer up the disgruntled detective. He was interested about the outcome of this situation. Laughing, he shook his head. He sounded just like Sherlock.

''What's so funny?'' Sherlock asked, frowning slightly.

''Nothing, just silly, mundane thoughts.'' John replied, leaning back in his chair. ''Now, why are you asking about the mail?''

Sherlock looked down, a slight blush creeping across his cheekbones. He hadn't wanted to tell John yet, but there was obviously no other choice. He took a deep breath and grabbed a pillow that Mrs. Hudson had left on the couch. She really was a sweet old lady.

John stood, worry etching its way across his face. He could only recall a few times that Sherlock had looked this nervous, and none of the occurrences were fun to remember. He tried to remember anything he had ordered that would cause his boyfriend to feel such anxiety. Nothing came to mind. He quickly crossed the small space and kneeled down in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock slid off of the couch slowly and wrapped his arms around John, resting his head on the other's shoulder. John pulled the taller man close, rubbing his back. He was beginning to panic. Sherlock had gotten better with showing affection, but he did not display emotion often, preferring to leave the intimate matters to John. The fact that Sherlock had made the first move was a cause for worry indeed.

''Sherlock, what's wrong?'' John asked, pulling back slightly. Sherlock hid his face in John's shirt, mumbling something. John frowned. ''I can't hear you, dear.''

''I said, I've been feeling ill lately, and I was suspicious, so I asked Molly to perform a few…tests. She said she would send the results through the post.'' Sherlock explained, pulling away from John with a sigh.

John grabbed his hand and stood, pulling Sherlock to his feet. Sherlock looked down, refusing to meet the other's eyes. He knew John was about to question his suspicions, and Sherlock also knew John would be packing his bags after he realized the possible truth.

''What are you talking about? What suspicions? And when have you been ill?'' John inquired, tilting his head to the side, his eyes wide with worry.

Sherlock sighed and looked up, then quickly looked down. He couldn't deliver what he was sure would be devastating news while looking at John's kind face. His fists clenched at his sides, he took another deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the pain that would come. ''Mostly in the mornings, occasionally in the afternoons, but you're always at work, which is why you haven't noticed.'' He swallowed past the lump in his throat, not sure if he could continue. He didn't want John to leave, but if his suspicions were correct, John would find out soon and leave, anyway. It was now or never. ''After thinking it through and going over all my symptoms, I came to the conclusion that I may be…pregnant.''

John froze, trying to comprehend what Sherlock had just said? Had Sherlock really said that he suspected himself to be _pregnant_? One look at the detective's slouched posture and broken expression told John all he needed to know. He frowned slightly. This was good news, great news in fact, so why did Sherlock look like he was about to fall apart?

Then it occurred to John. It was so painfully clear that John mentally kicked himself. He couldn't believe he'd been so blind.

Sherlock thought John was about to leave him.

John shook his head and pulled the younger man into his arms, laughing softly. Sherlock relaxed into the embrace, but frowned, looking down at John.

''What's wrong with you, John? This is no laughing matter!'' Sherlock exclaimed, pouting. John laughed and kissed Sherlock gently. Sherlock, momentarily forgetting why he'd been upset, kissed back, pulling John closer. John broke away gently and looked up at Sherlock, shaking his head again.

''Sherlock, for a consulting detective, you can be really idiotic sometimes. You know that, right?''

Sherlock glowered at John, not at all pleased that John had just called him an idiot. He was Sherlock Holmes! ''Why am I an idiot?!''

''I'm not going to leave you. I'm overjoyed that we might be having a child together. Why did you think I would leave you?'' John asked, frowning slightly.

Sherlock looked down, feeling ashamed. Only John could make him feel such petty emotions. ''We never discussed the matter of having children, so I assumed you didn't want to have any.'' He replied quietly.

John closed his eyes, slowly counting to ten. He did love Sherlock, but the man could be so oblivious sometimes. Sherlock flopped onto the couch, suddenly exhausted with the whole affair. John sat down next to him, and Sherlock, smiling, snuggled against him.

''Do you want me to go check the mail for the test results?'' John asked, kissing the top of Sherlock's head.

Sherlock shook his head. ''Just a little longer…'' He mumbled, closing his eyes. John smiled and wrapped his arms around the sleeping man. Whether Sherlock was pregnant or not, John knew they would continue to be happy together.

Sherlock pouted, glaring at the swollen bump that was protruding from his midsection. He was currently six months pregnant and was rather frustrated with the symptoms, one of which happened to be insane cravings.

''John!'' He whined, struggling to sit up. John hurried into the room, his trousers falling down. Sherlock smiled. The fact that John would stop dressing himself to come tend to Sherlock's needs…it brought tears to his eyes. John kneeled down beside Sherlock and kissed his cheek.

''Sherlock, love, what's wrong? Does something hurt?'' John asked frantically. Sherlock shook his head and wiped his eyes.

''No…no…it's just…you're being so kind and…'' Sherlock started to tear up again. John sighed, smiling, and kissed Sherlock gently. His dear fiancée's emotions had been all over the place, and it was driving Sherlock mad.

''It's fine, really. You know I like helping you. I do love you, after all.'' John said, gently rubbing Sherlock's tummy. Sherlock smiled happily, putting his hand over John's. John chuckled softly, then remembered that Sherlock had called him into the room for a reason.

''Sherlock, why did you call me in here? Do you need something?''

Sherlock nodded, a frown replacing the cheerful smile that had been on his face moments before. John arched an eyebrow, and Sherlock sighed, once again struggling to sit up. ''Yes. I'm hungry, and…I really, really need to pee.''

John bit back a laugh and helped the pregnant man to his feet. Sherlock wobbled for a second, then waddled towards the bathroom. Once he had gone into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, John let out the laugh he'd been holding in. It was just another not-so-average day in a not-so-average life.


	2. The Birth of Two Perfect Twins

**All right. I know I really should be updating more often, but I'm just way too awesome at procrastinating, guys. It's both a blessing and a curse. I'll do my best to update more often. There's a break from school coming up so hopefully I'll be able to update a bit more often. Anyway, here's the last part of my Sherlock fic. Hope you guys enjoy! (By the way, I need someone to hit me with a brick for not updating as often as I should. It really is becoming a problem...Any takers?)**

John Watson, the fiancée of the world's one and only consulting detective, was hunched over his desk, frowning at an intimidating pile of paperwork. He enjoyed being Doctor John Watson, but the never-ending piles of paperwork would never cease to be tedious. Besides, he'd much rather spend time with his lover. Sitting back in his chair, he smiled softly as thoughts of his dear detective entered his mind.

Sherlock was due any day now, and both men were brimming with excitement and anxiety. Sherlock was ready to give birth to their twins, –they'd received the news a few months ago during one of Sherlock's appointments- but was terrified of the pain to come. John constantly worried about his love, even when it wasn't necessary. Sherlock often got upset, saying John clearly didn't trust him enough to carry their children. Though John knew Sherlock was merely hormonal, it still hurt at times. He laughed softly, shaking his head. He didn't know what he was going to do with the man.

Sherlock waddled into the room, stomach the size of a planet. John looked up and smiled softly. _'Speak of the devil.' _He thought. Sherlock plopped down on the sofa and sighed, obviously bothered by something or other.

''What's wrong, darling?'' John asked, putting a pen aside.

''My back hurts.'' Sherlock whined, looking at John pleadingly. John got to his feet and walked over to the sofa, frowning slightly.

''How long has your back been sore, Sherlock?'' He asked, helping the pregnant man rotate on the sofa. Sherlock shrugged and looked away. John sighed and sat behind him, slowly rubbing his shoulders and back. The detective relaxed, moaning softly as John's fingers removed the tension from his back.

''Are you going to answer my question?'' John asked, after massaging Sherlock's back for a bit. Sherlock tensed, then sighed. Shrugging his shoulders wouldn't do him any good a second time.

''A couple hours.'' He replied, ashamed at how nervous he sounded. He was Sherlock Holmes for God's sake! He shouldn't be nervous around anyone, especially when it was John! The doctor stopped rubbing his shoulders and glared at the back of the detective's head. Sherlock turned around slowly and smiled sheepishly, hoping John would fall for his puppy dog eyes. He didn't.

''Sherlock, how many times have we been over this? I know you're not used to showing affection or human needs, but if you need something, you need to let me know.'' John sighed, sounding more disappointing than anything else. Sherlock's lower lip quivered, and John, doing his best to prepare for the onslaught, quickly kissed the detective, hoping it would distract the poor man from his emotions. That didn't do much good. Sherlock covered his face with his hands, hiding the tears that had started to cascade down his cheeks.

''I'm sorry, John! I just don't like it when you worry, and you've been so kind lately! I hate asking you for favors! It seems all you do now is take care of me, and-'' Sherlock froze, slowly lowering his hands. John tilted his head, concerned.

''Sherlock? Are you all right?'' He asked, reaching out to grab Sherlock's hand. Sherlock held out his arms, whimpering in pain. John pulled Sherlock closer and wrapped his arms around the taller man. The detective groaned and hid his face in John's shirt. John rubbed his back, worried that the moment had finally come.

''Sherlock?'' He questioned, more insistently this time. Sherlock simply shook his head and tightened his grip on the sleeve of John's shirt. Frowning, John studied his lover. The man was doubled over in pain, had the sleeves of his shirt locked in an iron grip, and seemed to be having quite a bit of trouble breathing. Instincts kicking in, he gently pried Sherlock's hands away and guided Sherlock into a slightly more comfortable position on the sofa. Sherlock closed his eyes, panting.

''Sweetheart, you have to tell me where it hurts. Your stomach? Back?'' Sherlock nodded weakly and rubbed his swollen belly. John nodded, even though he knew Sherlock couldn't see him. ''All right. You said this has been going on for a couple hours?'' Sherlock nodded again, gritting his teeth. John grimaced and continued. ''Was the pain just in your back, or did it spread to your stomach as well?'' The pregnant man opened his eyes and reached out a hand as his breathing quickened at a rapid pace. John grabbed his hand, and Sherlock gripped it tightly, back arching off the sofa as he moaned in pain.

''J-John…'' The detective whimpered. John squeezed his hand tightly, hoping to offer even the slightest bit of comfort, though he knew it probably wasn't working.

''Sherlock, dear, I think it's time. We've got to get you to a hospital.'' John said, standing. Sherlock looked up at John and shook his head. John arched an eyebrow, confused and more than a little worried. His eyes scanned Sherlock, and he noticed that the tension had left the man's body. He was relaxing on the sofa, acting as if he hadn't just been in extruciating pain!

''I'm fine, John. There's no need to worry.'' Sherlock murmured sleepily, eyes closed. John frowned, trying to diagnose the problem. Moments before, Sherlock had been on the verge of tears due to the pain in his back and stomach, and now he was completely relaxed, almost asleep.

_'Is he even having contractions?' _He thought, worrying at his lower lip. Before he could continue with his diagnosis, he heard a soft snore. Sherlock had fallen asleep. John shook his head, smiling softly. As long as Sherlock appeared to be fine, there was no need to worry. He sat back down and continued with his paperwork, hoping that what had happened had been nothing more than Braxton Hicks contractions.

John sat up, yawning, and rubbed his eyes. Blinking owlishly, he looked around. He was still sitting in his desk chair, surrounded by a mountain of paperwork. The position had been surprisingly comfy, so he couldn't understand why he'd woken up. The answer soon became clear.

''John. John! John!'' The cries of his lover grew more insistent once the younger of the two realized John was awake. John stood up, stretched, and walked over to the sofa.

''Yes? What is it, love?'' He asked, stifling another yawn. Sherlock held out his arms, frowning. Doing his best not to laugh at how cute his love looked, John helped Sherlock to his feet, kissing the taller man's cheek. Sherlock rubbed his belly and smiled at John.

''Thank you, John.'' He murmured, kissing the shorter man. John nodded and put his hands over Sherlock's.

''How are you three doing?'' He asked, looking up at Sherlock. Sherlock tilted his head to the side, considering the question.

''I'm fine, and we are in desperate need of sugar and applesauce.'' He finally replied, looking at John. The doctor, doing his upmost best not to laugh at the look on his lover's face, nodded.

''All right. I'll go get you some.'' John replied, walking into the small kitchen. Sherlock waddled behind him and carefully lowered himself into a chair, watching John expectantly. John glanced over his shoulder as he gathered the desired items. Sherlock seemed to be fine…He certainly didn't appear to be in any pain...He handed the other a bowl of sugar and applesauce and watched, amused, as Sherlock devoured the meal.

Looking up from the empty bowl, Sherlock fixed his best puppy dog eyes on John. John prepared himself mentally, wondering what Sherlock could possibly want. Whenever he looked at John like that, he really, _really_ wanted something, and John had trouble saying no.

''John,'' Sherlock began. ''I know you want me to rest, but I was wondering if we could go out today? Just for an hour or two?''

John blinked several times. Was Sherlock Holmes begging? He smiled softly. He couldn't say no to Sherlock, even when he _wasn't _begging. Sherlock looked up at him hopefully, blue-green eyes begging John to say _yes_. John sighed; it was clear that Sherlock had already won the battle.

''All right. We'll go out today, but _only_ for a couple hours.'' John replied, standing. Sherlock smiled and held out his hands, silently asking John to help him up. John pushed in his chair and walked over to the other side so he could help his heavily pregnant boyfriend to his feet. Sherlock swayed slightly and winced before he righted himself and waddled to the bedroom. John frowned slightly but didn't say anything. Why had Sherlock winced? Maybe one of the babies had just kicked...Still frowning, he followed Sherlock to the bedroom.

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were exiting their home together for the first time in several months. Sherlock was looking around, eyes darting in every direction. John held back laughter. His lover was clearly gathering information on everything he'd missed in the past several months. He snuck his hand into Sherlock's and was pleasantly surprised when Sherlock intertwined their fingers. Sherlock didn't usually condone public displays of affection. The detective waddled along, smiling softly. It felt nice to be outside, and having John with him made it that much better. Since John was always busy with work, Sherlock didn't get to see him as often as he would like. He did enjoy spending time with his doctor, and he hated it when people assumed he was a pretentious, cynical asshole. He shook his head. Today was not a day for those thoughts.

''John, can we go look at baby clothes?'' He asked, glancing at his doctor shyly.

John arched an eyebrow. ''We have enough onesies to clothe a small orphanage, dear.''

''Children are messy, John. We need to be prepared for all possible outcomes.'' The detective replied as he pulled John into a small shop.

The two spent a comfortable forty-five minutes examining onesies in various shades of green and blue. Eventually they settled on five onesies and two shirts. John was just placing one of the shirts in the basket when Sherlock doubled over ever-so-slightly, gripping the edge of a shelf tightly.

''Sherlock?'' John asked, an unspoken question hanging in the air between them.

Sherlock looked up at John, panting. John quickly placed the basket on the floor and wrapped an arm around Sherlock. The taller man leaned against him and whimpered.

''John…'' He groaned, clenching his teeth. John nodded and helped Sherlock out of the shop, nodding when the cashier gestured at the basket of abandoned items.

Once they were out on the street, Sherlock moaned softly and nodded towards a bench, looking back at John desperately. John nodded, and Sherlock made his way to the bench, leaning heavily on John as he moaned in pain.

John helped Sherlock lower himself onto the bench and pulled out his cellphone. It was almost dead. He quickly dialed nine-one-one, hoping his phone would survive until the end of the call.

''Hello. Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?'' The operator asked, politely.

''My husband's gone into labor.'' John replied, glad that male pregnancy wasn't as rare an occurrence as it had been ten years earlier. He glanced over his shoulder, worrying at his bottom lip. Sherlock was doubled over, gasping for breath. John held out a hand, and Sherlock gripped it tightly, panting as the contraction passed.

''Where are you, sir?'' The operator asked, all business.

''Across the street from Fresh from Yorkshire.'' John replied, squeezing Sherlock's hand comfortingly as the detective whimpered.

''All right. I'll send an ambulance to your location immediately.'' The cool female voice replied. ''Would you like to stay on the line until emergency services arrive?''

''No, thank you.'' John murmured, hanging up. Sherlock grabbed at his coat, tugging at insistently. John looked over, placing his phone back in his pocket. His husband hid his face in the fabric of his jacket, groaning.

''Love?'' He asked, gently.

''Have to push…'' Sherlock managed, biting back a scream. John's eyes widened. Sherlock had to push _now_? Now of all times? Trying to hide how panicked he was, he knelt down in front of Sherlock.

''How far apart are the contractions?'' He asked, slightly pleased that he sounded cool and collected.

Sherlock closed his eyes and gripped John's coat, gritting his teeth. John waited, holding his breath, until the contraction passed. Sherlock looked up at John, tears streaming down his face.

''T-there's no time-'' He let go of John's coat and wrapped his arms around his swollen belly, whimpering. John quickly stood up and turned, worried eyes scanning the streets for the ambulance. It was nowhere in sight. Biting his lip, he turned back to Sherlock.

''Sherlock, sweetheart, we're going to move a little ways, all right?'' He murmured, helping the whimpering detective stand. Sherlock slumped against him and shook his head weakly.

''John,'' He gasped. ''I have to p-push now…''

John shook his head and started walking down the street, supporting the weight of Sherlock and their two unborn children. Sherlock protested for all of five seconds before another contraction hit his already weakened body. John glanced at Sherlock, terrified that the detective would give birth in his trousers before he found a safe place for him to deliver their twins.

Thankfully, after a few minutes of wandering around desperately, John spotted a house that had been for sale for the past two years. There was no way anyone would be in there. He helped Sherlock, who had no energy to move at this point, into the garage of the house and gently lay him down on an old couch.

Sherlock grabbed his belly again and screamed, arching off the couch. John quickly shut the garage door and hurried back over to Sherlock, doing his best to remember everything he needed to do during a delivery. Sherlock looked up at John, panting heavily.

''P-please, John…make it s-stop…'' He moaned weakly, letting out another blood curdling scream just as he finished saying the last word. John nodded and pulled down the detective's trousers and boxer shorts. Tossing the clothing aside, he helped Sherlock sit up a little and put a couple of cushions behind him. Removing his jacket, he folded it up and set it under Sherlock. It was the best sterile environment he could create. He looked down at his hands. They were pretty damn clean, considering he'd been spending the day hanging out with Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock screamed again, bringing John back to the current situation. He quickly sat down between Sherlock's legs and rubbed one leg while the detective squirmed and moaned.

''All right, I'm going to count to three, and when I reach three, I want you to push as hard as you can.'' He said, gently, checking Sherlock's progress as he did so. He wasn't a professional so he couldn't tell how far along Sherlock was, but judging from the screams, he'd say his lover was getting close to the finish.

Sherlock nodded weakly and grabbed a cushion, holding onto it tightly. John smiled reassuringly and began counting.

''One…two…three, push!''

Sherlock squeezed the pillow and bore down, screaming as another contraction ripped through his body. John rubbed his leg, murmuring words of encouragement. Sherlock fell back against the cushions, panting. John glanced down again, smiling when he saw the top of the first child's head.

''You're doing great, love.'' He murmured, looking up at Sherlock. The taller man had only a brief moment to smile before another contraction hit. He threw the cushion aside and gripped the top and side of the couch, screaming as he bore down. John continued to murmur words of encouragement as the head slowly slid forward. Sherlock went limp, panting and trembling.

''J-John,'' He moaned, his voice barely audible. ''I…can't…'' He gripped the top of the couch, gritting his teeth as he bore down again. John reached up and grabbed Sherlock's other hand.

''Sherlock, is there anything I can do to help lessen the pain?'' He asked, squeezing the other man's hand. Sherlock gripped his hand tightly, groaning. After a moment of painful silence, Sherlock nodded weakly.

''Need to c-crouch down…'' He managed, before giving in to the next contraction. He let out a sound that sounded more animalistic than anything else and tried to get off the couch. John helped him into a crouching position in front of the couch. Sherlock slumped forward, resting his head on the couch as he did his best to prepare for the next contraction. John placed his jacket under Sherlock and rubbed the detective's shoulders.

''All right, one…two…there…push!''

Sherlock dug his nails into the couch as he bore down again. John watched as the top of the child's head slipped forward, revealing a mop of dark hair and a small forehead. Smiling softly, he rubbed Sherlock's back.

''C'mon, sweetheart. You're doing great.'' He said, hoping the encouragements were doing Sherlock some good. Sherlock simply groaned as he pushed once again, nails ripping the delicate fabric of the couch. The head continued to slide forward as Sherlock bore down over and over. Soon the entire head was out, and Sherlock was shaking violently. John cradled the baby's head and looked at the back of Sherlock's head. The beautiful, dark curls were stuck to the back of his neck with sweat, and Sherlock was slumped against the couch, panting.

''Love, the head is out. Just hold out a little longer.''

Sherlock laughed, whimpering in pain as he did so. ''John, in case you've forgotten…we're having twins…'' He closed his eyes again, moaning as the urge to push grew stronger. John watched as their first child slowly inched its way out of Sherlock's body. Cradling the child and guiding it out, he glanced up, noticing that had been coming from Sherlock were becoming less frequent. Frowning slightly, he continued to guide their child into the world, hoping his suspicions weren't correct.

''Almost there, Sherlock. One more big push.'' He muttered, holding the child in his arms loosely. Sherlock let loose a guttural groan and bore down once more. Their first child was born into the world, already squalling. Sherlock smiled for a moment before closing his eyes, panting heavily. This confirmed John's suspicions.

''John…too tired…'' Sherlock mumbled, whimpering as another contraction forced him to push again. John quickly removed his scarf and wrapped the first twin as he glanced down between Sherlock's shaking legs. The second twin was just visible. He cradled the first twin in one arm, using the other to reach around and give Sherlock's hand a squeeze.

''Sherlock, you've already done so many other incredible things. Why can't you manage this? Our children are relying on you.'' Sherlock looked over his shoulder, eyes glazed over with pain.

''I-'' Another contraction hit, ripping a scream from his throat. Sherlock gripped the couch again as he bore down, panting heavily. The head of the second twin slid forward quickly, possibly more eager to be born than its older sibling. John did his best to guide it out as it slid further out with each push. Finally, the second twin joined its sibling, sniffling. John made sure they were healthy, checking their lungs and the amount of fingers and toes, before turning his attention to his boyfriend. While he'd been wrapping the second twin in his shirt, Sherlock had collapsed, too weak to lean against the couch. John carefully placed the two squirming, whimpering babies on the couch and pulled Sherlock into his arms, helping the tired man lean against him. Once he was sure Sherlock was comfortable, John placed their children in the detective's arms, smiling as a tired smile graced Sherlock's features.

''They're perfect.'' He mumbled, yawning.

''And they're ours.'' John replied, smiling brightly.

_Our perfect little family…_


End file.
